Case,
I am going to accomplish my goal of 365 posts this year, one way or the other. One way is to get creative (or lazy, depending on how you look at it), so here's an anniversary post. I wrote this exactly a year ago today:
Love,
Dad
Case,
I'm about to mix some nature metaphors, so just go with it, OK?
Yesterday, we took you to the urban Serengeti — a place where wild creatures roam together in a state of tenuous existence. We took you to the mall.
By the time your mom and I finished our coffee, which adult animals need to keep up with their young, you had become typically restless. You wanted out of the stroller. So I picked you up and we started moving. But after a few steps I thought you might like a little ambulatory freedom. Your mom agreed it was a good idea to let you walk.
I thought you might be hesitant, maybe look back at one or both of us before moving forward with trepidation. Nope. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you took off like a drunken penguin, and seconds later you had speed-waddled your way to the river. I mean the children's play area.
Wanting to follow through on the whole freedom thing, it was decided that we'd follow you around for a while, despite our fear of the river. I mean the children's play area. (Seriously, if you ever have kids, you'll hate that damn place. There may even come a time you wish that an alligator would leap up, drag you away and put you out of your misery.)
You stumbled around for a few minutes — at one point trying to shove a hesitant child down a slide because he was in your way and you had run out of patience (you are your father's son) — and then, thankfully, you speed-waddled your way back to the relative safety of the open plains.
You spent much of the next 15 minutes reluctantly holding your mom's hand as you ventured through more of the mall. Along the way, I pictured you as a little baby on the floor of our old apartment. You were only a few months old and you'd lie on your stomach, occasionally rolling over but mostly struggling to move. At the time, I wondered aloud many times — to your mom's great annoyance —if you'd ever start crawling. Now, here you were, among a mass of people, carefree and mobile. It had only been a little over a year, but it felt like a lifetime.
You're 18 months old now, and you're growing up so fast. And, yes, it's a little sad, because I can't help but imagine you as an adult, doing adult things — like drinking coffee, perhaps to keep pace with your own child or children as you wonder upon a trip to the mall who the idiot was that decided it was smart to corral large groups of germ-ridden animals into a confined space. Those days will be here before I know it.
In my more selfish moments, I just wish you'd stay my little boy forever. But as I sit here typing with a cold, feeling as if it might be preferable for an alligator to come and drag me away, I am snapped back to reality (see what I did there?) by remembering that as much as I'd like for you to grow up slower (or not at all), the opportunity to watch it happen — at whatever speed — is one of life's greatest gifts.
Love,
Dad
Monday, February 24, 2014
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Global Parenting System?
Case,
Driving from Richmond to work in D.C. today, I took the state highway instead of the interstate. All things being equal, the state highway takes about 30 minutes longer. But things are never equal.
Most people take the main road, and "most people" inevitably means more problems. So the road less traveled is often your best bet. But you don't take that path lightly.
The road less traveled is for taking in the scenery, seeing the sights AND getting to your destination without the avoidable hassles presented by following the masses. There has to be a purpose. Otherwise, you're just veering of course for no reason, and you will end up lost in the middle of nowhere, literally and figuratively — the latter a circumstance that cannot be fixed by a GPS.
Taking the road less traveled is seen as a noble pursuit, but there are pitfalls. I envisioned myself as a noble traveler for many years. I had no fear of veering off course, but more often than not, I was afraid of following through with my chosen path. Too many times I didn't trust my instincts, and I would turn around and return to a familiar place. That prevented me from getting lost for too long, but it also prevented me from ever finding what I was looking for.
I didn't follow through until I took the leap of faith to follow through on the path that led me to your mother. It was the best decision I ever made, but it was not without doubt, and there were no guarantees. And that's the thing with taking the road less traveled. It's not always easier. In fact, it's rarely easy. It presents its own challenges, and sometimes it does take an extra 30 minutes. Or, in my case, 20 years.
There's nothing wrong with taking the main road and the degree of certainty that comes with it. God knows I made things hard on myself by my consistent refusal to do so. Sometimes the main road is the only way to get where you're going.
There's a reason the road less traveled is less traveled. It's not for everyone. But if you decide to take a different path in life, the key is to believe in yourself and believe in your sense of direction, knowing that, ultimately, you're on a path that will result in happiness and fulfillment.
Whatever you decide, travel bold and be safe.
Love,
Dad
Driving from Richmond to work in D.C. today, I took the state highway instead of the interstate. All things being equal, the state highway takes about 30 minutes longer. But things are never equal.
Most people take the main road, and "most people" inevitably means more problems. So the road less traveled is often your best bet. But you don't take that path lightly.
The road less traveled is for taking in the scenery, seeing the sights AND getting to your destination without the avoidable hassles presented by following the masses. There has to be a purpose. Otherwise, you're just veering of course for no reason, and you will end up lost in the middle of nowhere, literally and figuratively — the latter a circumstance that cannot be fixed by a GPS.
Taking the road less traveled is seen as a noble pursuit, but there are pitfalls. I envisioned myself as a noble traveler for many years. I had no fear of veering off course, but more often than not, I was afraid of following through with my chosen path. Too many times I didn't trust my instincts, and I would turn around and return to a familiar place. That prevented me from getting lost for too long, but it also prevented me from ever finding what I was looking for.
I didn't follow through until I took the leap of faith to follow through on the path that led me to your mother. It was the best decision I ever made, but it was not without doubt, and there were no guarantees. And that's the thing with taking the road less traveled. It's not always easier. In fact, it's rarely easy. It presents its own challenges, and sometimes it does take an extra 30 minutes. Or, in my case, 20 years.
There's nothing wrong with taking the main road and the degree of certainty that comes with it. God knows I made things hard on myself by my consistent refusal to do so. Sometimes the main road is the only way to get where you're going.
There's a reason the road less traveled is less traveled. It's not for everyone. But if you decide to take a different path in life, the key is to believe in yourself and believe in your sense of direction, knowing that, ultimately, you're on a path that will result in happiness and fulfillment.
Whatever you decide, travel bold and be safe.
Love,
Dad
Saturday, February 15, 2014
You can quote me
Case,
Like no college student ever, I was bored one afternoon in my early 20s and spent hours reading a random book of quotations from cover to cover.
As our family is about to undergo some significant changes, I've been thinking a lot (more than usual). One of those thoughts today centered on this quote: Don't wait for your ship to come in, go out to meet it.
Now I spent years standing on shore when I should have been in the water swimming. Don't make the same mistake, son. Dive into life and see what you can find. Be a shark and don't stop moving.
Love,
Dad
Like no college student ever, I was bored one afternoon in my early 20s and spent hours reading a random book of quotations from cover to cover.
As our family is about to undergo some significant changes, I've been thinking a lot (more than usual). One of those thoughts today centered on this quote: Don't wait for your ship to come in, go out to meet it.
Now I spent years standing on shore when I should have been in the water swimming. Don't make the same mistake, son. Dive into life and see what you can find. Be a shark and don't stop moving.
Love,
Dad
The American Dream
Case,
Soon you will start thinking of the future. Once that happens, you will think about it every day for the rest of your life in some form or fashion -- from what you want for lunch to what you might be and whom you might meet when you grow up.
But no one thinks about waking early on a Saturday to watch Team USA play Russia in Olympic hockey and making breakfast for your growing family. So when that kind of thing happens, cherish it. Those are the moments that make life worth living. Those are the moments that our futures are made of.
Love,
Dad
Soon you will start thinking of the future. Once that happens, you will think about it every day for the rest of your life in some form or fashion -- from what you want for lunch to what you might be and whom you might meet when you grow up.
But no one thinks about waking early on a Saturday to watch Team USA play Russia in Olympic hockey and making breakfast for your growing family. So when that kind of thing happens, cherish it. Those are the moments that make life worth living. Those are the moments that our futures are made of.
Love,
Dad
Saturday, February 8, 2014
No-power hours
Case,
I've mentioned before that a "hurricane" in the opening weeks after your birth led to a power outage that caused our shiny new family to spend a few days living in a hotel. But in digging up some old work today, I was reminded that you were present for a previous power outage. One that did not result in three days of free breakfast, but one that resulted in the following column:
http://www.nvdaily.com/news/2011/03/matt-pallister-a-failure-of-power-frustrates.php
Here is the text version because I don't trust the Internet:
Love,
Dad
I've mentioned before that a "hurricane" in the opening weeks after your birth led to a power outage that caused our shiny new family to spend a few days living in a hotel. But in digging up some old work today, I was reminded that you were present for a previous power outage. One that did not result in three days of free breakfast, but one that resulted in the following column:
http://www.nvdaily.com/news/2011/03/matt-pallister-a-failure-of-power-frustrates.php
Here is the text version because I don't trust the Internet:
Dear SVEC,
Nothing disgruntles a customer more than a shivering, pregnant wife standing in the middle of a darkened living room nine hours after the power went out.
That's the image stuck in my head after the Feb. 25 outage affecting parts of Frederick County. It's an image that, more than a week later, still makes me angry.
The whole episode is especially frustrating given that an increasingly larger portion of my salary has been devoted to paying you the last few months. I think it's fair for any customer to expect that, in exchange for the significant increase in payments during the winter, the power will not go out from the middle of the afternoon to the middle of the night. I'm paying a lot for your service; I should be able to count on it.
I understand interruptions are inevitable, especially in the winter. But this is the 21st century. We live outside of town, but in a fairly large residential area. We're not isolated on a vast prairie. And while it was a very windy day, there was nothing limiting access to the area. It wasn't a snowstorm. Service should have been restored completely long before the temperature in our living room began to plummet.
The power initially went out shortly after 3 p.m., and we were quick to report it. The power returned about 4:30 p.m., but only briefly. Eventually, darkness set in and it wasn't until after 10 that there was light. I got a call from my wife telling me everything was OK. That made me feel much better. Then I got another call five minutes later saying it was dark again. And 51 degrees.
When I finally got back to the neighborhood, some of the houses had lights on. Not ours or any around us. After close to an hour of trying not to think about how cold it was, we decided to make a trip to Wal-Mart. It was 15 miles away, but nothing else was open, and we needed to warm up.
My wife, brilliant even when she's freezing (and has a bad cold) suggested I ask the team of workers down the road if they had any idea what time we could expect the lights to come back on. So I did.
I pulled up close to where your crews were working, just a few blocks from the house, walked over like I belonged and asked a nice, older man with glasses who seemed to be in charge if he knew the ETA on when our power would be restored. I was surprised by the response.
"The power's out up there?"
"Yeah, has been all day, since about 3."
"The power's out here (pointing to the house a few feet away)."
"It's also out at our house and all around it. If you go up a few blocks and take a right, you'll see none of the houses has power. It's completely dark."
"Well, we're not from this district, but we'll check it out."
"OK, thanks. We're running to Wal-Mart to get out of the cold. Hopefully this gets fixed soon."
We got back within an hour, disappointed to find the house still dark. So I hopped back into the car and sought out the crews again. I was told the power was turned back on as I was walking up to them.
Sure enough, when I got back this time, light. I walked through the door with a big smile on my face and started to dig through the refrigerator (which thankfully was still relatively cold). You can guess what happened next.
Back out I went. This time, I noticed the crews were sitting in their trucks. At least somebody was keeping warm. I was told a fuse must have blown and it was being checked out. I stormed off.
About 20 minutes later, about 1:30, as we lay in bed under every blanket in the house, the lights went on. This time, for good. I was finally able to make a sandwich. It was 10 hours after the initial outage. It was 48 degrees.
The kicker to all this, though, is that we went an entire day without power, but still ended up paying for it because the emergency heat immediately kicked in when the power was restored. Wonderful.
Sincerely,
An average customer
Dad
Monday, February 3, 2014
The naked truth
Case,
You have become adept at removing your diaper and even more adept at going about your daily routine without it. Nothing makes you happier these days than flinging off your diaper and running around the house while grinning maniacally. You even spent the day doing this at Grandma Richards' recently, and that is something we may need to talk about.
We allow this practice at times as part of potty training, but I'm starting to think you're taking advantage of us. I go into your room each night to check on you after you fall asleep, and WITHOUT FAIL these days, you're lying there naked. You do allow me (or your mom if she's the unlucky one doing a 1 a.m. bed check) to put on a new diaper (or just put the old one back on, but don't tell your mom I said that) without waking up, although I get the feeling you may actually be awake and just enjoy hearing your dad curse.
But while the nocturnal diaper changings are somewhat annoying for me, I've become much better at avoiding strategically placed choo-choos on my path to your crib, so the process has become pretty efficient and rarely painful. To be honest, as long as you're sleeping peacefully at night, changing a diaper on the fly is a small price to pay. The alternative is you jumping for hours into the early a.m. while your mom and I curse you and your energy — in the most loving way, of course.
I want to tell you to cut this out and stop rolling around in all your glory on all the furniture, but you're 2. There will be plenty of opportunities later in life to be naked, and many of those have the potential to cause you great embarrassment and/or possible incarceration. It's best to get it out of your system now. So, with all apologies to your mom and her bed spreads, partake in what makes you happy. Enjoy life while it remains free of self-concisousness and social constraints.
Love,
Dad
You have become adept at removing your diaper and even more adept at going about your daily routine without it. Nothing makes you happier these days than flinging off your diaper and running around the house while grinning maniacally. You even spent the day doing this at Grandma Richards' recently, and that is something we may need to talk about.
We allow this practice at times as part of potty training, but I'm starting to think you're taking advantage of us. I go into your room each night to check on you after you fall asleep, and WITHOUT FAIL these days, you're lying there naked. You do allow me (or your mom if she's the unlucky one doing a 1 a.m. bed check) to put on a new diaper (or just put the old one back on, but don't tell your mom I said that) without waking up, although I get the feeling you may actually be awake and just enjoy hearing your dad curse.
But while the nocturnal diaper changings are somewhat annoying for me, I've become much better at avoiding strategically placed choo-choos on my path to your crib, so the process has become pretty efficient and rarely painful. To be honest, as long as you're sleeping peacefully at night, changing a diaper on the fly is a small price to pay. The alternative is you jumping for hours into the early a.m. while your mom and I curse you and your energy — in the most loving way, of course.
I want to tell you to cut this out and stop rolling around in all your glory on all the furniture, but you're 2. There will be plenty of opportunities later in life to be naked, and many of those have the potential to cause you great embarrassment and/or possible incarceration. It's best to get it out of your system now. So, with all apologies to your mom and her bed spreads, partake in what makes you happy. Enjoy life while it remains free of self-concisousness and social constraints.
Love,
Dad
A bunch of crop
Case,
If a job or profession you undertake involves dealing with the placement of photographs on paper, the Internet, etc., please learn how to crop them and save your father from more swearing.
Love,
Dad
If a job or profession you undertake involves dealing with the placement of photographs on paper, the Internet, etc., please learn how to crop them and save your father from more swearing.
Love,
Dad
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